


Love Is Enough

by honeybun, KonaKona



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Domestic, Established Relationship, Fluff, Graves takes a break, Little Fix-It Fic, M/M, Recovery, Requited Love, i hate writing the summary, short but sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-06-21 06:42:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15551922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeybun/pseuds/honeybun, https://archiveofourown.org/users/KonaKona/pseuds/KonaKona
Summary: While being dishonourably discharged wasn't high up on Percival Graves' To-Do list, it had turned out better than expected.





	Love Is Enough

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there! 
> 
> It's nice to post a little something, even if it is quite short and sweet. It was made lovingly between me and Sabo (KonaKona on ao3) - who produced the art work which you can find on both of our tumblrs.
> 
> We just wanted to give out a little sweetness to those of us that wish our two sweethearts could just be happy and content together like this.
> 
> You can find me on tumblr @weepingstar and you can find Sabo @quenoeslomismo
> 
> thank you for reading as always <3

It had been a month and three weeks since Graves had been (some say) forcibly removed from the offices of MACUSA.

Like the stubborn old man he was, he had insisted on returning to work with not one, but three magical wounds which had only been treated at home, as well as two barely set broken ribs and a leg which gave him pain when he walked.

While _he_ had been found in some dingy safe house belonging to Grindelwald, Credence had not. He had insisted on returning to work and into the field to find Credence. Without any care for himself, and a one track mind bent on finding the boy, he hadn’t looked after himself. And when, finally, he _had_ found Credence, he had dedicated even less time to the every day necessities which were vital in the running of one Percival Graves. The fight had turned to capturing Grindelwald, and after that, a mountain of paperwork and to securing the safety of the magical world. His work never truly stopped.

Eventually, after Seraphina had insisted on him taking a break one too many times to be a friendly suggestion any longer, she had simply told Percival he was dismissed, indefinitely, until he was better.

While he could have felt betrayed, especially after he found his own office warded against him and his secretary mysteriously on an extended holiday to the Bahamas, what overcame him as he apparated back to his brownstone, strangely, was a feeling of relief.

Not for his aching bones, or a break from paperwork even, but for the boy he had left at home.

Within the stretch of time since his dismissal, Graves couldn’t claim to have done very much at all, of which he was vastly proud of.

He would sit in the garden with Credence over breakfast, or inside by the window should it decide to rain. He would even cook - something he hadn’t indulged in for years he realises suddenly when chopping scallions - and delight in watching Credence grow from his hard labour. The two of them would read, not with a voracious appetite, but with a speed born out of relaxation and the slow ease of time.

Graves liked most of all to read to Credence, his voice low and steady next to Credence’s head, the space between them growing smaller and smaller until they pressed together chastely, for the most part.

There is something to be said for the soft, domestic quality Graves' life had taken on. The only sound coming from his home in the early morning is a shuffle of feet across the kitchen floor, and then the wheeze and whistle of the kettle. After that, quiet, intimate mumblings between two lovers.

Graves observes Credence at the stove, trying to cling onto his sleepy warmth in the depths of his heavy dressing gown. Credence had remarked one morning similar to this one - for they all blended into the other, like golden honey - that the robe did not remind him of the hospital, and wasn't that marvellous. The lump in Graves' throat had only slackened when Credence had allowed himself to be coddled on Graves' lap, and Graves had wondered if Credence would have ever been able to tell him such a thing had he been rushing off to work. 

Graves had felt something of a spiritual _warming up_ in the time he had spent alone-but-with-Credence, in a way he had never experienced before. The tense knots in his body had slowly unfurled, his hands didn’t search for his silver cigarette case quite so often, he slept well, cushioning Credence’s head with his chest. And if he had allowed himself to believe he had a soul, he might say it felt replenished, that the contented hum from Credence after learning he would remain on leave for another week - _this rib still isn’t right, maybe my leg needs a bit more work_ \- fulfilled him.

Graves may keep his wand under his pillow, but he doesn’t grip it at night, should he wake up - and admittedly he still does - it’s to the soft breaths of Credence at the top of his chest.

One particular night when Graves wakes, Credence’s eyes are open too. He notices the quicker rise and fall of Credence’s chest, the wide eyes, the neck of Graves' vest is held tightly by Credence’s small hand.

“Are you alright, darling?” Graves murmurs, sleep mushing his words together as a sharp twang in his chest makes him pull Credence closer.

Credence nuzzles his face closer, nods imperceptibly and mumbles, almost just to himself in reassurance, “You’re here.”

Graves is quite convinced in that moment, for the first time in his life, that certainly he does have a soul. Perhaps tattered and stepped on, or not all that good, but a soul nonetheless. He knows because the young thing on his chest, hair still at odd lengths, scars littering his bony body, his Credence, holds it tightly in his hands. He must have a soul, for he must offer it to his Credence, give him everything he has.

Graves gently holds the back of Credence’s head, eases him toward Graves to press a kiss on pink lips, “I won’t leave,” Graves says, in answer to a question never asked. He can feel Credence smile against his neck as they rearrange themselves and comfortably ease back into sleep, Graves twists Credence’s curls around his finger and listens as his breathing evens out.

It had been a month and three weeks, and Graves does not dream in worst case scenarios any longer. He had shut off his floo network to official calls some time ago, and his owl seems to be getting plump at his lack of correspondence.

Credence no longer felt the tug of the obscurus at his bones, and for the first time in his short life, he feels loved.

 

It has been a month and three weeks, and the world here is quiet.


End file.
